This blog category is the journaling and journey-ing of my quest to say (with cautious sincerity) “Hello, Anxiety” and to take a look at the condition from my “me-andering” views.
So a while back my therapist “Rubi” gave me a homework assignment (I like homework—its completion shows what a good boy I am): “Neal, I want you to come up with some strategies for dealing with your anxiety when it shows up. You’re already doing some of these, of course. This is simply organizing them. An anxiety protocol.”
“Maybe categorize it into mental and physical parts.”
“Well, how hard can that be?” I thought.
Rubi told me to make sure I begin each of my strategies with “intentionality.” That I need to be deliberately attentive and to intend that each strategy or effort be effective.
For example, before starting a simple five-minute calming meditation practice, I might say, “I sit in this meditation session with the intention that my current anxious experience will improve.”
I have divided my protocol into three parts. The first deals with strategies which can help with both the physical and mental aspects of my anxiety. The second with mental, and the third with physical. Of course those divisions are academic only. The mental and physical ebb and flow into and through each other. I struggled a little categorizing my strategies.
But when anxiety comes a knocking, if I’m at home, I try to remember to head to my reading chair in our study …
… sit down and pull out my protocol sheet from the magazine rack nearby. (I also have copies in my calendar and online.)
If I’m feeling particularly stressed and anxious (say a 5 or more on a scale of 1-10), I have to push myself to get the protocol into my hands and onto my lap (instead of just going where anxiety leads). At that higher 5+ rating, my anxiety can even make, at first, my neatly laminated protocol sheet look pointy edged, sharp and too much trouble.
But I have worked with some of these strategies enough to know that if I give them a chance, they will not fail me.
For the next three “Hello, Anxiety” blog posts, I will examine each of the three divisions of my anxiety protocol. Please give me your thoughts and recommendations for improvements. This protocol is definitely a work in progress.
This blog category is the journaling and journey-ing of my quest to say (with cautious sincerity) “Hello, Anxiety” and to take a look at the condition from my “me-andering” views.
So for some reason (denial? avoidance? embarrassment?—I excel at all three), I have been hesitant to blog about what has been going on in our lives recently. But I have decided that it will be … healthy to do so.
On January 17, HR—Husband Robert, remember?—tested positive for Omicron. Two days later, I did as well. No clue how that happened. We are both fully vaccinated with the booster. And we have tried to be so careful. We experienced relatively mild symptoms for about a week or so. Then I got better. Robert did not. He got worse. Much worse.
Initially our primary care doc thought he had a secondary infection of the flu and was given prednisone and a Z pack. He didn’t get much better. His body became so painfully achy that he started having trouble walking by himself. And his breathing got very labored, with a too-low oxygen saturation level. So much so that Monday of last week we ended up in the ER, with Robert on oxygen and a rainbow of meds.
Tests and more tests transformed the flu diagnosis into a serious case of Covid-related pneumonia, severe dehydration and a variety of complications. Robert was placed on the No Visitors Covid Floor at the hospital.
In spite of what I and everyone else would very much like to believe … Covid. Is. Not. Over.
When “all of the above” comes knocking at your door …. Let me rephrase that: when “all of the above” comes knocking at MY door, it brings along its viral buddy, Anxiety.
The first evening without Robert …
We have matching reading chairs in our study. But Robert wasn’t sitting with me.
He was sitting with Omicron. And Omicron’s sick friends, Pneumonia et al.
I was sitting alone.
Well, that’s not exactly true. I was sitting with my Anxiety and his buddy, Shallow Breathing, who more often than not shows up with him. Also trying to force themselves in for an uninvited visit: Too Many Thoughts. Fears. Negative Projections.
And I then felt TERRIBLE about being concerned with MY breathing, when my husband was in ISOLATION IN THE HOSPITAL with real breathing problems.
“Neal, you do have options here, you know. You’re not helpless.”
“You’re right,” I told myself, as I pulled out my homework from Therapist Rubi: the creation of a list of strategies to choose from when Anxiety comes a visiting.
NPA, Neal’s Protocol for Anxiety.
[By the way, my next “Hello, Anxiety” blog post is an examination of my NPA.]
From the “For the Mental Part” section: “My anxiety is like the waves in the ocean, it comes and it goes. It doesn’t stay forever. It never has.”
And from the same section: “Breathing in, I calm the mind. Breathing out, I calm the mind.”
Didn’t cure. But it helped.
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For some reason, a communication mistake we later realized, I was able to visit Robert for two of his seven days in the hospital. With PPE and a negative Covid test.
“Sorry Robert, I can’t stay with you very long. I have other patients who need my attention.“
************
I stayed concerned about Robert’s vitals. Monitors drove me crazy. Purveyors of potentially bad news.
In the darkest moments, the I-cannot-think-these-thoughts came. “Will Robert come home?”
Then yesterday, Robert‘s pulmonologist and hospitalist decided he was strong enough to go home. With supplemental oxygen and blood thinners to help make sure the blood clots in his lower legs would not be a problem.
We rejoiced, with a bit of apprehension
This morning I felt so much better. Robert wanted his 1st cup of post-hospital coffee, and he wore his Santa pants! Which has to be a great sign.
For some reason, I have always appreciated, even revered, “the view from behind.” As a child, on the first day of each new school year, I was a nervous wreck waiting for the teacher to announce our seating arrangement. Front of the class? 😢 Too much exposure! Too revealing! Too out there! Far too much responsibility to “be.” A nice, comfy seat toward the back? 😁 Perfect. I get to observe, to “see.” To calmly breathe.
In this blog category, “The View from Behind,” I invite you to join me, somewhere in the back.
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Here’s youngest grandchild, sweet Isabelle Grace, a while back.
The inquisitiveness, the liveliness, the awakening joy in her eyes.
This blog category is the journaling and journey-ing of my quest to say (with cautious sincerity) “Hello, Anxiety” and to take a look at the condition from my “me-andering” views.
As I mentioned in my last anxiety post, I nicknamed my therapist “Rubi” (for a variety of reasons, the foremost of which is that he’s a jewel, a gemstone of a therapist, even if I can’t spell “Ruby”). I also explained that my most recent “homework” has been to assign a numeric value between 1 and 10 to anxiety when it rears its head. To recognize it and feel it, but also try to come up with statements which might calm me by affirming truths about my worries, anxieties and fears. “I HAVE felt this way before, and it passed!”
Well, I had a chance to work on my homework Monday when anxiety did some ugly head rearing. Robert and I received some frustratingly unwelcome news. (Which I may write about in another post.)
Later in the afternoon I finally remembered to assign the anxiety a number. And by that time it had, of course, grown.
To a 6, maybe a 7. (I never feel exactly confident in this exercise.)
This higher level of anxiety for me is often accompanied by its two cohorts: my perceived inability to breathe efficiently and a fear of (this is disgusting) nausea and even throwing up, exacerbating the breathing problem. Probably far TMI here.
The fellow below is wearing what I perceive as my experience/problem/issue with notched-up GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder):
The headset provides him with a “virtual reality,” quite different from “normal.” Which seems a bit similar to how I regard my heightened anxiety. It tends to block out (put a red light before?) everything in my immediate experience except itself. So. Very. Frustrating. I keep “staring” at it, feeling it, and to my exasperation, I guess in a way I become my anxiety. And it becomes my reality. Not my blog’s most often see-how-happy-Neal-is version.
GAD’s version of Neal.
I texted Rubi to tell him the news Robert and I received. Well, that was the presenting reason I messaged. I also wanted, I suppose, SOME IMMEDIATE HELP. He’s a therapist, for goodness’ sake.
After some soothing, warm empathy and encouragement, Rubi helped me see that there was actually a little green light right there on the side of my anxious “headset.” Maybe not an instant out, but a way around or through. Easy for him to say, he was looking from the outside. See how clear it is from that perspective!
“Just stay in the moment. Anxiety is all about what hasn’t yet happened.”
Rubi gave me a little jewel.
When I’m not wearing the headset, I too can easily see the green light. But when the contraption is strapped so very tightly on my head?! Hmmm.
Also when I’m in the moment of strong anxiety, I tend to forget that there are other things in the moment as well.
* My breath.
* My bodily sensations grounding me to earth and to life.
* My personal truth statements waiting to remind me that I am resilient and I’ve gotten through all this before.
* The sudden epiphany that Rubi’s homework level is a 6 or 7 and NOT a 9 or 10.
* My even-with-anxiety dignity.
Anxiety too often has me looking straight ahead, in a dark place, at red-light fears which haven’t even happened yet.
Good therapy teaches that I can raise my hand to find the green light switch.
Confession: I certainly like saying, “Goodbye, Anxiety!” (pretending that it is gone for good … “I’m so fixed!”) a whole bunch more than “Hello, Anxiety” (not quite so welcoming and definitely without the exclamation point).
But don’t tell Rubi. That will just mean more homework.
Grandsons Daniel and GabrielDaughter Amy and her nephew/my grandson Matthew Me … and a heady salad Robert … seriously offering some croissantsGrandtwin Matthew (a little older) excited over a giftRobert timing a photo while grandtwin Madison poses—and ex-wife Donna and I wonder how much longer this can go on.
I’ll turn &$#@! on January 10. Well, Tuesday morning, I had an early birthday gift—a colonoscopy!
Hours earlier that morn, at 3 a.m. to be exact, as I was groggily downing my second serving of Suprep Bowel Prep (more about THAT later) …
… I had a lightheaded “I-can’t-remember-the-LAST-TIME-I-ATE!” epiphany that my blog followers would probably want to hear all about my upcoming procedure! (Was I right, or what?) Thus, in order to be faithful to my thousands, hundreds, dozens, single digits of followers, I would need to remember to take DETAILED mental notes about my experience. I’m a retired English professor, after all.
Butt hold on, let’s start at the very beginning, just like that “Do-Re-Mi” song from The Sound of Music.
Because of a couple of slightly concerning issues back in December, Dr. Ken Griffin, my primary care physician here in Savannah (the very best in the Western Hemisphere, btw) suggested that I go ahead and get a colonoscopy instead of waiting the full ten years for my next scheduled one in 2023. TMI already?
Butt first, I was referred to local general surgeon Dr. Jeffrey Mandel for a quick look-see (DO NOT THINK ABOUT THAT TOO MUCH), who thankfully decided I wasn’t ready for “non-surgical rubber band ligation.” What?! Rubber bands? And why get lawyers involved?!
The next step found me making an appointment with gracious gastroenterologist Dr. Mark Murphy, at The Center for Digestive and Liver Health and The Endoscopy Center (whew, that’s a mouthful), who would end up performing? administering? doing my colonoscopy.
If you’ve had a colonoscopy, you know that the preparation is tougher than the procedure. And that Suprep Oral Solution I mentioned earlier? When I walked into CVS to pick it up, I nearly went into a panic attack (you may know about my issues with anxiety from my “Hello Anxiety” posts) at the price …
Butt what calmed me down was realizing it wasn’t just any old bottle of bowel prep you might find at The Dollar Tree. No, $100 dollars bought me an entire kit! With TWO bottles of bowel prep, a reusable non-BPA (thank goodness) plastic cup, and nonfiction reading material!
Husband Robert just interrupted my inspired blogging to complain, “Neal, don’t you think it’s about time to move on from writing about the bowel prep? It’s starting to bum me out.”
Well, okay, here’s the final thing I’ll say, show about my experience with Suprep Bowel Sodium/Potassium/Magnesium (Isn’t that $1.29 Gatorade?) Sulfate Oral Solution …
After a LONG night, Robert and I showed up at the Endoscopy Center at 9 a.m. You have to have a driver for these procedures, you know, you can’t just hightail it to a colonoscopy date all by yourself, for goodness sake. Having a driver made me feel sort of special, inexplicably, not to mention inappropriately, reminding me of Morgan Freeman and Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy.
All kidding aside (for a moment, at least) ALL the folks at the Center were terrific—friendly, welcoming, professional and so adept at calming me down and assuring me that all would be well, that I was being taken care of. I wish I could remember everyone’s names to thank them individually.
Super amicable and soothing Nurse Molly showed me to my little smartly curtained waiting/prep cubicle, and when I was all snug in my little bed (kinda like Goldilocks), Molly brought me a heated blanket! I made a mental note to tell Robert ALL about THAT.
Then the hippest anesthesiologist in the history of anesthesiologists, Dr. Gantt, paid me a visit to let me know about the upcoming sedation. I couldn’t pay much attention because I kept looking at what made Dr. Gantt so very hip: his choice of headwear. His scrub cap (is that what you call it?) was all colorful/islandy. Dr Gantt told me he gets his caps from a company in Key West! The design looked something like this …
… but don’t hold me to it. I was about to have a colonoscopy. Do you expect me to remember everything perfectly?
After the hip anesthesiologist left my cubicle, I slowly settled back into my cocoon, gazed up and began to behold the most beautiful blue sky, replete with white fluffy clouds. Mesmerized at the heavenly scene miraculously forming above me, I suddenly felt nirvana-ish, at peace with the world, confident that my procedure was well under way, and the hip doctor’s sedation a splendid success! All I had to do was float, inhaling joy and health into my body, exhaling love and peace out into the world. Ohm.
But then Molly came back into my little cubicle, which I had dubbed Neal’s Nap Pad, and told me it was time to wheel away to my procedure (!). What? I had been staring up at the common area ceiling, painted a soothing light blue with white clouds to calm nervous patients like me.
Nurse Molly said the sweetest thing to me as I left her: “I wish all our patients were just like you.” And I wish all nurses were just like Molly.
Wheeled into the procedure room, I was greeted by two delightful young ladies, but I can’t remember their names, darn it, an anesthesia nurse and a doctor-helper nurse (see how intelligent I am with medical lingo). The anesthesia nurse told me I was about to take a great little nap! And get this, the doctor-helper nurse saw from my armband (more about that later) that my birthday was coming up and asked how I planned to celebrate. I told her that Robert and I were keeping it low key, just going out to eat. [Interestingly, everybody seemed to know all about Robert, which I thought was just so 2022, forgetting that they knew about him because he’s my “designated driver.” Wait, am I getting this Center for Digestive and Liver Health experience confused with one a while back at Savannah Tap House?]
My new friend, the doctor-helper nurse, then went on to explain that her family had recently had a celebration by going out to eat as well.
“We went to Toni’s Steakhouse.”
“Oh. My. Goodness!” I think I yell/gasped, probably worrying the anesthesia nurse a little. “That’s where we are going! I’ve never been!”
She then aptly suggested that Robert and I share the delicious steak for two deal, which comes with four sides! I assured her that we will. And we will! I’ll post a picture next Monday. Now you have something special to look forward to.
Well, as much as I wanted to know what sides to choose from, things made a swift turn when Dr. Murphy stood up from where he had been doing who knows what at a computer near my feet. He told his helper nurse that he liked Toni’s too. The room started to feel like a Norman Rockwell family painting.
Dr. Murphy was terrific, saying that he knew my nurse daughter Amy (I need to come up with a better way to name nurses), sharing a funny little anecdote about a traffic stop, explaining to me all about the colonoscopy and assuring me that I would be fine.
Then I was out like a light.
Butt I think I recall snippets of the convo between the doctor and the two nurses as they worked on me.
Anesthesia Nurse: “Isn’t he famous? I think he’s famous.”
Dr. Murphy: “I think you’re right. I just can’t place him.”
Doctor-Helper Nurse: “I really should have told him the sides.”
Dr. Murphy: “I think he’s an actor. You know, they love Savannah.”
Anesthesia Nurse: “Hmm, I don’t think so. I think he’s a fitness model.”
Doctor-Helper Nurse: “Did you read his armband? He’ll be &@%! next Monday on his birthday! Who would have thought?! He doesn’t look a day over 39!”
The next thing I knew, nice Nurse Cassie was welcoming me back to Planet Earth and giving me some ginger ale! We hit it off, both having vacationed in the Poconos. Cassie soon walked me out to my designated driver (I felt just a tad like leaving the Taphouse). And I said to Cassie, according to Robert: “Everybody was so nice, if I didn’t have to have a colonoscopy, I’d like to come and hang out with y’all.”
And look, you get gifts. A neat holder pouch for your glasses.
This beautifully simple bracelet. Here I have it paired with another bracelet gift from Robert.
And, believe it or not, luggage!
Thanks so much to the talented, good natured, and kindhearted professionals at The Center for Digestive and Liver Health! The best!
Dr Murphy and sensational staff really did give me a most appreciated early birthday gift: a clean bill of colon health with no polyps. Again, TMI?
For this blog category, “Countdown to Christmas: Our Travel Tree & Georgia State Parks,” each day between December 1 and 25, I take a pic of a state park ornament on our Travel Tree and briefly highlight that park.
We stopped by Reed Bingham, just north of Valdosta, on our way back home from a trip to west Georgia. Named after the man responsible for securing the land to establish the park, it is a feast for nature lovers, with hiking trails meandering down sandy paths and through seemingly never ending waves of saw palmetto and wire grass, all underneath my beloved, scattered Longleaf.
We actually saw a gopher tortoise, but he scooted down his hole before we could take a picture.
Thanksgiving afternoon, after The Big Meal, the lucky thirteen of us in my big ole modern family …
(Okay, okay, I know I posted this pic before.)
… sort of scattered throughout hostess daughter Amy’s sprawling house, the adults congregating in the den before the obligatory football games, while the children (ages 3-17) did who knows what.
At one point, nine-year-old Madison resurfaced: “I’m bored. Matthew (her twin) and Gabriel (her cousin) won’t stop playing video games.”
“Go outside for a while,” wise Nana suggested.
Checking on her a bit later, I saw a now-spirited Madison and a growing pile of sticks. She loves artsy endeavors—note her self-made turkey hat? … bandana?
And then a bit later (who knows how long, the tryptophan was working on me), Madison asked the adults to “Come see what I made!”
Those adults who were still conscious rambled outside to find … an outdoor pop-up art installation!
“A free-form, aesthetically pleasing amalgamation of found object natural elements representing both land and sea,” I immediately thought upon seeing the piece.
“Huh?!” Madison seemed to think in response, judging from her body posture.
Oops, a few last-minute touches …
As self-proclaimed artistic judge, I found the work dazzlingly daring yet delicate, detailed and deeply thoughtful, while being both dreamlike and dynamic!
“Huh?!” I even asked myself.
The artist was then joined by little sister/helper Isabelle (3) …
NealEnJoy 